


i don't own emotion (i rent)

by nebulousviolet



Series: aftg character studies [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Suicide, Multi, allison centric, allison-neil friendship ftw tbh, bisexual allison reynolds, lowercase abuse, mentions of drug abuse, not my best work tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 21:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11170059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulousviolet/pseuds/nebulousviolet
Summary: "but what if there is no knight?" the little girl asks. allison squats down, sees herself in the chubby curves of this child's face, in her wide dark eyes and curious expression."that's easy sweetie," she answers. "you save yourself."-allison reynolds has never done things the easy way.





	i don't own emotion (i rent)

**Author's Note:**

> title from "what you own" from rent the musical.  
> and yes, spot the sneaky rent reference hidden in this fic.  
> this is not my best work by far, but i just wanted to publish it? i love renison but never write anything for it lol

“miss reynolds!”

it is allison’s last press conference, last pep rally, last meet and greet. so even though she is tired, even though her face is sticky with makeup and her braids feel a little stiff with hairspray, she turns, smiles, nods at the middle-aged, middle-class man in front of her.  
“what can i do for you?” she says, false smile in place the way renee favours her cross, or andrew his armbands. the man nudges someone behind his legs - a small girl, no more than six or seven, decked out in fox orange and with warm, dark skin that makes allison think of dan. she looks a little nervous, but lights up when she sees her.

“hey, there, kiddo,” she greets, smiling wide. “what’s your name?”  
“marissa,” she squeaks, quiet enough that her voice barely cuts through the hustle and bustle. “but everyone calls me marie.”  
“marie,” she repeats, nodding. “i like your name. who’s your favourite fox?”

marie grins impossibly bright, front two teeth missing.  
“you!” she declares, and allison feels herself smiling for real. “you’re like a real-life princess, but in exy!”  
“well, i’ll tell you a secret,” allison stage whispers, winking. “i have a knight in shining armour.”  
“i knew it!” marie yells, enthusiastic. “to rescue you, right?”  
“depends on what i’m being rescued from,” allison says cautiously, because she does not want to upset this girl, but she does not want to lie to her either.

marie has already moved on to other thoughts, though.  
“but what if there is no knight?” the little girl asks. allison squats down, sees herself in the chubby curves of this child’s face, in her wide dark eyes and curious expression.  
“that’s easy, sweetie,” she answers. “you save yourself.”

*

“hi!” her new roommate says. she’s five foot four, and lights up the room with her kind eyes, pastel hair and graceful smile. there is something elegant about her. “i’m renee walker.”

renee walker, dressed in hues of blue that remind allison of lazy summer day skies, extends her hand. it is when she takes it and feels her heart stumble a little as she notices the slightly-bitten, plain fingernails that allison realises this may be a problem.

*

“do whatever you want,” neil relents, running a hand through curls so thick and bright that they look unnatural. for a man who took a year to even recognise friendship, that’s pretty trusting. “i trust you.”  
allison grins, all teeth, bite and no bark. a variety of styles flash through her head, but one in particular demands to be completed.  
“andrew is going to bust a nut when i’m done,” she promises, grabbing the electric razor. “when your sex life goes into the stratosphere, you can send your thanks to me.”  
“allison!” neil hisses, and she laughs, lets the sound echo off the polished surfaces of neil’s bathroom. well, and andrew’s too, she supposes, but andrew is away, playing against the seattle uprisers in a knockout round.

in the end, allison is pleased with her handiwork. she has kept the front long, shaving the back and sides short but not too short. she purses her lips, runs a hand through the long curls on top, and adds a little gel for volume. when she steps back to look at him, it is almost as if the scars decorating the space under his eyes don’t exist; the first thing she notices is the piercing blue of his irises, then the shock of auburn hair that makes his skin seem even paler than ever. or perhaps she’s just desensitized to the marred skin under one eyelid, and the harsh lines under the other.

“look in the mirror,” she instructs, and he does, staring. she smiles, smug, pleased with the result. “what do you think?”  
“thank you,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. “allison, thank you so much.”  
she winks, brushes off the loose hair from his back, says her goodbyes.

later at home, renee’s head in her lap, she receives two texts. one is from neil, the other from andrew.  
the first is, _thank you again. and you were right._  
the second is, _I’m not sure whether to murder or thank you, Reynolds._

renee sees andrew’s text and creases up, laughter making the curve of her mouth soft.  
“how much does matt owe you?” she asks, catching her breath. allison grins, leans down and kisses the dimples on her cheek.  
“two hundred,” she tells her, and renee lights up again, a blinding beacon, the flame to which allison is a moth. sometimes allison wonders if this is what love is like for neil and andrew. then she is too busy undressing renee to care.

*

“allison, please,” her mother begs, the voice of a woman who chose her daughter’s middle name after her favourite resort. the resort is no longer her first choice. “there’s no need for this.”  
and allison sees it all, a reel of images on the 3d imax of her mind, and she sets her shoulders, feels the weight of unearned money and catty namecalling and eighteen years of being the heir to the reynolds instead of allison reynolds. she is a half-formed person, a blank slate sick and tired of being written on.  
“there is,” she says, voice freezing. people have said she has a heart of ice before, but she has never believed it until now. allison reynolds is tired and angry and she does not breathe anger red-hot, but instead cool, cool and calculated and controlled. “i deserve to be more than a last name.”

when her parents ask her to pack, she does not cry. she hasn’t cried since she was seven years old. she does not cry again until four years later, when seth dies.

*

when allison was younger, much younger, she wanted to be a ballerina. her parents enrolled her into private ballet lessons with the top teacher in the country. six weeks later, she wanted to be a singer. the cycle continued. it is only when she is much older that she realises achievement doesn’t mean anything if it was half-bought.

*

“allison,” neil says into the phone, reception fuzzy as per usual. he’s dropped his phone enough times that allison is surprised it even works anymore. he will not let her or andrew buy him a new one, so she doesn’t comment anymore. “how soon can you get to connecticut?”  
“depends,” she says, tapping her nails and glancing at her watch. “am i allowed to bring renee with me? where in connecticut? what the fuck’s going on, neil?”  
“andrew and i are getting married,” neil explains casually, and allison spits out her coffee.  
“what the fuck, josten,” she hisses, earning her a scowl from the woman and small child walking past. “also, you just earned me four hundred and fifty two dollars. but alternately, what the fuck.”  
“he got bored of not being allowed in the icu,” neil answers, as if this is the most casual thing in the world. “we need witnesses, you’re the closest. matt and dan are coming too, because i like not being yelled at in mothers’ meetings, and you can bring renee, obviously.”  
“no kevin?” she asks, arching her eyebrows. “and how many times have you been in the icu exactly for andrew to get pissed?”  
“four,” he replies after a moment, sounding a little embarrassed. “he got pissed after the first time, because patience isn’t a virtue of his, but the third time made him threaten to kill me himself. the fourth time was after he already asked.”  
“and no kevin?” she presses.  
“he’s in canada with the us court, remember?” he reminds her. “besides, we have plans for kevin. nicky’s in germany, though he assures us he will be crying in spirit, and andrew threatened to push me out of the window if i even suggested aaron. are you coming, allison?”  
“last question, i promise,” she lies, because there will be many more questions over text when this call is done. “is robin going? the one who kicked you out of your bed?”  
“robin’s doing finals,” he tells her. “law school. andrew’s unwilling to wait until after the season’s restarted, even for robin. now am i getting a yes or no answer?”  
“are you fucking stupid, josten?” she says with a scowl. “of fucking course i’m going. catch me goddamn custom designing the rings, you trickass bitch. tell andrew he can suck my ass if he disagrees.”  
“i’ll pass the message on,” neil regales drily. “and would you like roses or lilies at your funeral when he murders you?”  
“roses,” she says immediately. “they match my complexion better. bye, asshole.”

she loves her friends a lot.

*  
exy is not a sport for girls, her parents tell her. she goes to an all-girls school, top in the league tables. she wears a knee length skirt and three quarter socks and a blouse and a blazer. allison reynolds is the epitome of rich girl perfection, and so she tries out for the school team just because she can.

she makes starting position. her school goes to state championships. her mother barely remembers enough to ask how the final game went. her father didn’t realise until she got player of the year.

the next year, allison is made to swap her school exy uniform for the school cheer uniform. and then suddenly she has an undying need for ‘homework club’ and for once in her life allison is glad her parents are too oblivious to notice she comes home sticky with sweat and covered in bruises every night.

*

sometimes, when renee’s head is in between her legs, and allison is thrown back onto their bed with her hair falling like a halo, she wonders what life would’ve been like had she not rebelled. she wonders if she’d be dating some asshole with a crisp suit and a job position that had the word ‘ceo’ in it and described himself as a ‘progressive republican’. and then she stops, because what-ifs do no good when there is no bad choice to doubt. allison leans back, makes a noise best described as unladylike, and stops.

today, she is bathing in the afterglow, warm and tired, resting on renee’s abs.  
“what are you thinking about?” her girlfriend asks, because renee, in all her christian piety, puts others above herself to the point where she is almost telepathic. and allison is thinking about a lot of things, past, present, future, an intoxicating whirlwind of maybes and half-memories and a lifetime where seth didn’t die or where she didn’t room with renee, or where she apologised for things that didn’t need apologising for.  
“nothing,” she lies, but it’s a good lie, the kind where people don’t get hurt.

after meeting neil, allison very much knows what a fine line there is between a good and bad lie.

“okay,” renee hums, and stretches. “i’m going to go shower and make some tea. do you want some?”  
“ugh, no,” she complains, wrinkling her nose as she allows renee to get up. “tea is disgusting, as i have reminded you and neil several times.”  
renee laughs, windchimes on a stormy day, honey over shards of ice, and runs a hand through her short hair.  
“neil and i both have very strong opinions on tea,” she agrees, smiling. “we’re more concerned about how many teaspoons of sugar andrew can get into his cup, though. we agree to disagree on the green tea and english breakfast discourse.”

allison huffs, makes a face at how tangled her hair is.  
“there’s different types of tea now?” she calls after renee’s retreating back. “see, babe, if you drank coffee, we wouldn’t have this problem!”

they have this argument once a week. neither of them have yet to try a cup of tea, or a cup of coffee, respectively.

*

she goes to seth’s grave just once after the funeral.

her and renee’s wedding is in the same church where seth’s gravestone is. they have come full circle, she thinks, laying a single rose from her bouquet onto the marble. she’s right, roses do complement her perfectly. she’s the one with seth’s ashes in a fountain, of course, but if she believed in spirits, allison believes this is where he might go first.  
“i’m sorry,” she says, voice breaking. she’s not exactly sure what she’s sorry for. “you were an asshole, seth gordon, but none of this was your fault.”

she wants to feel sad, or bittersweet, but she can think of is this: she will not tell her children about seth gordon. perhaps nobody deserves to be forgotten, but for her sake, he does. his story is not a nice one. none of them have particularly rosy pasts, but his was the only one without a happy ending.

“allison,” dan says, from behind. allison misses her, these days. she’s forgotten how strong dan is. “sweetie, you should go.”

it is not condescending. dan is tired, probably from sleepless nights stemming from twins with energy levels rival to matt on sugar, but her eyes are warm and genuine. dan has always been hot anger, the opposite to allison’s cool. renee has been their neutral, their base. had they not roomed together, allison would probably hate dan wilds.

but they did room together, and she does not.  
“i know,” she replies, looking down at her knees. her dress is white silk and lace, and maybe that’s how she wants seth to remember her. the pretty blonde in flawless clothes and with a killer smile.

“you can come back later,” dan says softly.  
“i won’t,” allison replies. there is no heat to her words. her voice is almost as quiet as dan’s. “this is the last time.”  
“there was nothing you could’ve done,” dan reminds. “you checked his pockets. he didn’t kill himself. he was collateral damage.  
“but damaged all the same,” allison hums, yet turns away from the marble slab.

renee once told her that everyone gets a chance at heaven, even if they have to go to hell first.  
“that’s part of the atoning process,” she’d said. “you have to suffer to know it’s worth it. or what point would there be to hell and purgatory?”

allison steps away from the graveyard.

maybe the suffering was worth it, she thinks, for renee. she is finally leaving behind her purgatory.

**Author's Note:**

> please, please comment and give kudos! i thrive off that sweet, sweet validation.  
> follow me on tumblr: vvorkangelica  
> kisses!


End file.
